Breaking the Silence
by Miyabita
Summary: AU.  A last ditch effort to save what Jace cares for the most costs Alec his voice AND his Marks.  Now, living life as a mute mundane, Alec isn't sure what the future holds.  Especially once he meets Magnus Bane.
1. prologue

Author's Note

"Breaking the Silence" is a multi-chapter AU fic that I've been working on for some time, mainly featuring Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane. As a result, in later chapters, there may be some rated-R material that is not suitable for younger audiences. Please read at your own risk. Additionally, as this is an AU, I've taken a few liberties here and there with the timeline and Shadowhunter basics (such as a stele being able to be traced, etc.).

Disclaimer

Alec, Magnus, and all other characters, places, and phrases from _The Mortal Instruments_ are not mine, but belong to Cassandra Clare. No money is being made off this. All original characters and places in this fic are from my own imagination.

* * *

**-prologue-**

The smoke was so thick it was a wonder he could breathe at all.

Alec Lightwood propped himself up on his elbows, trying hard not to cough. Somehow he just knew that coughing would make his injury worse. Instead, he applied pressure to the wound on his neck, pulling the collar of his shirt up and feeling it quickly soak through with blood.

It took him all of five seconds to survey the situation.

Ichor and blood and smoke… the room was filled with it. Glass lay about the floor from where the windows had shattered, and Alec knew he'd be surprised if a single piece of furniture made it out unscathed.

His entire body hurt like hell. The demon had none too gently latched its claws into Alec's throat and proceeded to swing him into the nearest table, which collapsed instantly around him, scraping up portions of his skin. He knew he was lucky. The claws had barely sunk below the surface of his skin, although he could almost feel the poison pumping to his heart, even as blood continued to soak his shirt. He wondered how he was still conscious, but then realized it must be some kind of survival reflex, as he could feel it starting to wear off. There were black holes at the edge of his vision.

A few feet from him, a girl lay on the ground, unmoving. Alec didn't want to look, but found his eyes wandering to his sister's body anyway. Even though Alec had landed a nearly fatal blow on the demon, it had reared up for one last attack. Being injured, Alec hadn't been able to steady himself in time, and it was Isabelle who had come to his rescue, pushing him out of the way and taking the blow herself. He'd screamed for her to move, but had only managed to choke on blood, and then choke again as the demon's claws raked into her rib cage. He could only hope the death had been instantaneous. He hated the thought of his little sister suffering.

Across the room, Jace was also unmoving, but if Alec looked hard enough, he could make out the slight rise and fall of the boy's chest. Jace was breathing, but just barely from the looks of it. His skin looked battered and worn, and Alec spotted patches of blood around the boy. It wasn't a good sign.

The only other conscious form in the room was Clary, and she was a hysterical wreck. Alec could see blood dripping down from a rather nasty looking head wound above her right eye, but other than that, the girl appeared fine. Shaken, but otherwise ok. She was sobbing over Jace, holding her stele – the very weapon that had caused all this damn mess – in both hands, as if she meant to break it.

Alec's vision was a little darker now, and his limbs felt weak. He knew help would come before he and Jace could die, and when they investigated what happened, they would point fingers at Clary. The girl had never amounted to much of a Shadowhunter, but Jace liked her. Alec wouldn't be unhappy if the girl just disappeared from their lives, but he saw the way Jace smiled around her, the way Isabelle seemed genuinely pleased to have a girl who didn't run away from her more hyper-aggressive qualities. He did his best to pretend he liked her, too, but he really couldn't care less about what happened to her.

Except that _they_ cared. And he cared about them.

And so he found himself sliding across the floor, inch by inch, despite the pain searing through his body and the blood trail he was leaving, towards Clary's shaking form. He tried not to think about what he was about to do, because thinking just made things worse. It wasn't as if he didn't know the consequences; he did. But… Jace was his friend, and Isabelle was his sister. And, really, if their roles had been reversed, and Alec had been the one unmoving, he knew his sister would have done the same thing as he was about to do.

He finally reached Clary and, with the last of his strength, he wrenched the stele from her hands.

"Alec, what—" he heard her trying to say, but he tuned her out.

_I'm not doing this for you_, he thought, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his own stele. He shoved it at her, one hand still pressed to his throat, before he let go to grab at her stele and pocket it. Clary screamed when she saw the wound on his throat, and instantly rambled on about helping him.

But with the deed done, Alec fell to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

_Feedback is always welcomed. I'll try to update this at the beginning of each week. ^_^_


	2. chapter one

Author's Note

Sorry this is so terribly late in getting out. RL decided to chew me up and spit me out. In the future I'll try to be more punctual with updates. As a result, I'm posting two chapters, and you can find reviewer replies at the end of the second chapter.

Disclaimer

All disclaimer and warnings can be found at the beginning of the prologue for this story. Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood, and all other characters, items, and places from _The Mortal Instruments_ series are not mine and are the property of Cassandra Clare. All original characters and places _are_ from my own imagination. Resemblance to any real life person is coincidental. No money is being made.

* * *

**-chapter one-**

Living life as a mundane was harder than it looked, especially when you couldn't talk _and_ had no clue what you were doing.

Alec had both of these traits and found mundane life more troublesome than it was worth.

"Hey, New Guy!" Alec turned his head to look. Sam Ramiro was walking towards him.

Alec found almost all mundanes annoying, but he supposed Sam was tolerable. After all, as the owner's son, Sam was, Alec supposed, the most "popular" amongst the younger staff. He'd heard stories from some of the girls – they thought Alec was an excellent listener – that Sam had often driven new hires out if he didn't like them. Alec wondered, somewhat bitterly, if the fact that he couldn't speak had anything to do with his "likeability". Sam _did_ appear to like the sound of his own voice more than that of other people's.

Lifting a hand in greeting, Alec sat the rag on the table he was bussing and turned to give Sam his full attention. He supposed it was the "polite" thing to do considering he couldn't speak and needed the job more than he needed enemies.

"Hey man," Sam said. "We're all going out to the club after work tonight. You in?"

Clubs reminded him of Isabelle, and for a moment, a look of nostalgia crossed his face. How many times had Izzy tried to get him to go clubbing? How many times had he refused? For a moment, he wanted to go back to before, just so he could have that experience of going clubbing with his sister. But regrets were a waste of time, and he shook the thought from his mind.

Quickly, he pantomimed that he was exhausted and needed sleep. His co-workers had any number of stories for how "the cute new guy" had become a mute. He tried to wear high-collared shirts or turtlenecks (despite the heat) to cover up the worst of the scarring, but in truth, it was impossible to do. The nice thing about bussing restaurant tables was that he didn't have to speak or interact with any of the patrons. Unfortunately, he _did_ have to interact with the staff, and it seemed everyone was fascinated with the weird scarring on his neck. It was obvious that something bad had happened.

One of the girls had actually gone so far as to ask him if he'd been involved in a car accident to which he'd given a noncommittal shrug. He supposed a car accident was better than "leader of a gang" or "kidnapping gone wrong". Alec did take a certain kind of pleasure on eavesdropping on his co-workers. He usually hated being the center of attention, but with no one looking at him, he found it easy to stick to the shadows and listen in as they talked about him.

Several of the girls actually found him cute, and had contemplated asking him out. It was while eavesdropping on these conversations when Alec was actually _glad_ he couldn't speak, as the girls were less inclined to go out with a mute when there were plenty of talkative guys to date. Besides, he didn't like girls anyway, and he wasn't entirely sure how his co-workers would react to him being anything less than straight.

"You sure, man? I hear this club is _amazing_. Their bartender is supposed to be one of the best in town. Leroy's inclined to disagree, but hey, a drink's a drink, right?" Alec didn't say anything, but Sam was already laughing at his own joke. Alec guessed Leroy, their bartender at the restaurant, had probably phrased things a little differently when he'd told Sam what he thought about this "great bartender".

"You have my phone number if you change your mind, right?" Alec frowned, shrugged, and pointed to his throat. He felt a small jolt of satisfaction at seeing Sam wince at the reminder that Alec couldn't speak. Sam backpedaled quickly. "Well, uh, right. So, why don't you, uh, text me or something if you wanna come down? Okay? I gotta go check on Em. Gotta drive her back home so she can get ready. You change your mind, you text me, okay?" He gave Alec a hard pat on the shoulder, before turning around the corner and disappearing into the staff room. Alec went back to bussing the table, losing himself in the monotony of the job.

/

Alec worked at a small restaurant called Ramiro's. It was a rather posh Italian restaurant that saw a considerable amount of business given the fact that it was family owned and operated. Sam was set to take over the business in a few years' time, which, Alec supposed, explained a lot about his attitude, although Alec didn't really see how someone like Sam Ramiro was prepared to run a business. He was, to be sure, absolutely nothing like his father. Raymond Ramiro – "Papa", as everyone around the place called him – was a fairly jovial man, who appreciated honesty and hard work. He also gave what he could to charity and attended church on Sunday like a good Catholic. Alec thought this probably contributed to his willingness to hire him, given the fact that Alec had, essentially, no record of schooling, no references, and no voice.

The interview had been brief. He'd been at the library perusing the newspapers and seen the ad. The "No Experience Needed" qualifier was a definite plus, and Alec figured a job was better than nothing. Besides, he was pretty sure that _any_ mundane job was going to be excruciating compared to battling demons on a nightly basis. And yet, it was excruciating enough just thinking about the life he'd left behind.

So he didn't.

Papa Ramiro had done the usual double take upon first meeting Alec and noticing his scars. He'd asked Alec a series of questions, to which Alec had written his replies. One of the questions – "Are you a runaway or in any kind of trouble?" – made him grin just a little, but the smile was laced with bitterness, and he quickly schooled his expression before writing, _No. I'm an orphan._

And in a way, it was true. His parents didn't want anything to do with him. His Shadowhunter blood had been effectively stripped away. And it wasn't as if he could tell the mundanes anything about where he came from. In truth, it was as if he had come from nothing, which was exactly what he had now – nothing.

Whether it was his answers to the questions or his willingness to work, Papa Ramiro was keen to hire Alec, and quick to treat him as if he were part of the family. Mrs. Ramiro, who sometimes worked afternoons in the kitchen, was just as kind-hearted as her husband, and often gave Alec boxes of food to take home.

And as much as it killed him to bus tables, the work was fairly mind-numbing, allowing him to forget the past and focus on _something_, even if it meant polishing a table till it sparkled. He supposed he owed a lot to the Ramiros. His scars were definitely appalling, and with nothing to his name, it had definitely been a risk to take him on as an employee. Alec figured the least he could do was put his all into the job, much like he put his all into being a Shadowhunter. Or rather, _had_ put his all.

Because he wasn't a Shadowhunter anymore.

He was a mundane.

He was nothing.

/

His apartment was as far away from the Institute as he could possibly manage and still afford. The building itself was run down and definitely not much to look at. But the apartment was cheap, and the landlady was fairly agreeable if not a little high-strung. She gave Alec constant assessing looks every time they passed one another in the corridor, as if she didn't fully trust him.

He supposed she shouldn't, but he _was_ grateful for the room considering he had no background to check into.

"If I catch you dealing, boy," the woman had snapped as she handed him the key, "don't think I won't call the cops. Payment is _in cash_ at the beginning of every month. No exceptions, you understand?"

Even though he was grateful, Alec found her to be a pretty annoying individual with a voice equivalent to nails on a chalkboard. Not to mention he had always hated being scrutinized, so he found it hard to meet her eyes on most days when they saw each other. Still, he didn't want to give her reason to kick him out, so he did his best to keep a low profile and not make her suspicious.

The apartment itself left something to be desired. There was a small kitchen, a bathroom whose pluming didn't always work, and an unfurnished living room and connected bedroom. At first glance, Alec hadn't been quite sure what to do with the place. His bedroom back at the Institute had always been clean and lacking in decorations. This place was dirty and just lacking, not to mention much of the space needed massive repairs.

He'd cornered the landlady, handing her a note that asked if he could make repairs to the room. She had grudgingly agreed, stating that he'd have to be responsible for everything, and that was all he needed to get started.

In a way, he enjoyed working on the apartment almost as much as his regular morning jogs, which wasn't saying a lot. But still, it was another job he could lose himself in. And the library had plenty of books on how to do household repairs.

It probably helped, too, that Alec didn't require a lot of the "comforts" most mundanes did. He hated television, had never really spent a lot of time listening to music, and could care less about getting a cell phone. (He'd left his at the Institute in hopes that he could just forget.)

Day by day, the apartment looked a little cleaner and less shabby. The satisfaction he felt at restructuring his apartment didn't exactly make him feel better, but it did make him feel like he could survive in the mundane world. He didn't know for how long, but at least, for now, he felt he could manage.

/

Six months passed. Fall came and went, and Alec realized how ill prepared he was for the winter months. He hated winter because of the cold. He hated _cold_ because he was always cold to begin with; the weather just made it that much worse. His apartment had no heat, so he bought some blankets at the second hand store up the block and spent his evenings and nights wrapped in them. It didn't completely warm him, but it kept out the worst of the chill.

It wasn't until one somewhat sunny morning in mid-December, that he allowed himself to realize what winter really meant for him.

He was setting up silverware and helping to get the restaurant ready for opening when Papa Ramiro came up behind him.

"Alec." He turned. The man held out an envelope. "Here. Merry Christmas." Alec nodded as if to say the same and made to put the envelope in his back pocket, but Papa Ramiro stopped him. "No, open it!"

Alec put down the napkin he was folding and focused his attention on the envelope. In opening it, he found his paycheck had significantly increased, although he knew he hadn't worked any extra hours than normal. He gave Papa Ramiro a quizzical look.

"I give all my employees a Christmas bonus, Alec. It's my little thank you for all the hard work you do for my restaurant." Alec looked at the figure on his check again, and then looked back up at Papa Ramiro. "Thank you," he wanted to say, but was forced to find a way to pantomime it instead. After a couple of seconds, Papa Ramiro got the gist of what Alec meant, and gave him another smile.

"You're a good kid, Alec. You use that money to buy yourself a nice Christmas present, ok?"

_Christmas_, Alec thought as Papa Ramiro walked off. He hadn't even thought about Christmas. Suddenly, the memories began to assault him. Him with Isabelle, Jace, and Max, opening presents in secret on Christmas morning, because Maryse and Robert Lightwood didn't really adhere to the holiday all that much. Isabelle, in an apron Max had given her, trying to cook a special Christmas breakfast while the three boys tried hard not to grimace or make faces behind her back, even though they wanted to. Isabelle and Jace, both tipsy from too much eggnog and liquor, leaning against him on either side while they traded old favorite stories of their escapades. He remembered he'd been blushing, that he was so very grateful they were both too exhausted to look at him then, and that he had never felt more at home than at that moment.

He quickly threw the napkin back on the table and ran to the bathroom, where he proceeded to lock himself in one of the stalls and retch into the toilet. Isabelle was dead. Jace likely had no idea where he was. And he no longer had a family.

There would be no feeling of home this Christmas. Only the ticking of the clock as it counted down the minutes to the New Year.

* * *

_Feedback is always welcomed!_


	3. chapter two

Author's Note

As promised, here's the second chapter! I also decided to respond to all the reviews I got at the end of this chapter. Thank you again! ^^ (And I'll try to be more punctual with updates.)

Disclaimer

All disclaimer and warnings can be found at the beginning of the prologue for this story. Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood, and all other characters, items, and places from _The Mortal Instruments_ series are not mine and are the property of Cassandra Clare. All original characters and places _are_ from my own imagination. Resemblance to any real life person is coincidental. No money is being made.

* * *

**-chapter two-**

Spring had always been Isabelle's favorite season.

Alec supposed Spring was all right. He definitely didn't mind that the cold weather had receded, but he could do without the pollen in the air. Of course, he didn't have to worry so much about allergies in the City, but every time he went through a park on his morning run, his body tried to sneeze. "Tried" being the operative word, as it only caused him more pain than anything else. He'd always wondered why no one had ever invented a rune Mark to ward off colds or allergies when there were plenty of rune Marks for increased power, speed, and agility during battle. But, thinking about Marks certainly didn't improve his mood.

The restaurant had picked up in business. He'd learned from Andy – one of the kitchen cooks – that Ramiro's was always busy during the spring, since that was when all the "freshmen hopefuls" came to look at colleges one more time before accepting their offers.

Having been raised a Shadowhunter, Alec didn't really understand the "college process" thing, so he simply nodded every time Andy looked up from his long-winded ramble about college life and classes and professors and odd things like that. Everyone around Ramiro's told Alec their problems or felt the need to engage him in long conversations. At first, Alec had assumed his co-workers did this out of pity, but after one of the girls had explained to him that he was "such a good listener" Alec began to wonder if the real reason people talked to him as much as they did was _because_ he couldn't talk. No talking meant no secret spilling and no interruptions.

In a way, he supposed he should be happy that he was blending in more with the mundanes. On the other hand, he sort of wished he _could_ talk, just so people would stop wasting his time. He didn't need to know about Julie's latest boyfriend or where Emily had gotten her hair done. Frankly, he didn't care. But, it made the time pass, and he supposed it gave him more perspective on mundane life, allowing him to blend in further.

But really, he felt like he was just biding his time. Waiting.

/

On Thursday, Alec was helping clean up the kitchen after the lunch rush, when Sam burst in.

"Hey, Alec! Come here!" Sam didn't even wait for Alec to follow him; he went back out the doors just as quickly as he had entered. Alec looked over at Andy, raising an eyebrow. Andy just shook his head.

"You'd better go see. You know how he gets." Alec gave him a small grin as if to say, "Yeah, he's a pushy ass, but what can you do?" and headed out after Sam. The boy was standing right outside the doors, blatantly staring at a couple of customers that Emily was in the process of seating.

Alec looked at the customers and then back at Sam, giving a shrug. He didn't see what was so shocking about customers entering the restaurant. Wasn't that what they were supposed to do anyway?

"Hey, do you see how many rings that guy is wearing? And that other guy sure looks effeminate, doesn't he?"

Oh.

Alec got it. Sam was homophobic. Or, at the very least, he wasn't used to gays coming into his family's restaurant. All the more reason Alec was glad he didn't go out with his co-workers; Sam seemed like the kind of person who wouldn't want him around if he knew Alec were actually gay.

Not showing any sign of reply, Alec looked back at the two men. The man on the left _was_ rather effeminate looking, but he hid it well with a long sleeved polo shirt only slightly unbuttoned at the neck, and somewhat loose fitting jeans. Alec supposed the effeminateness was simply in the bone structure of the guy's face, and there really wasn't much a person could do about their bones, short of breaking them.

The other man was very tall and thin and tan. Sam was right; he _did_ have a lot of rings on his fingers, but he wore them with flair. Alec watched as he lifted one ringed hand to sift his fingers through fine black hair streaked with blue. As Alec looked at him, the man seemed to know he was being watched, and he glanced at Alec with a lazy flick of his eyes that suggested Alec come closer if he wanted a better look.

Alec quickly ducked his head and headed back into the kitchen before Sam could see that he was blushing.

The tall man was clearly gay; Sam had gotten that part correct. But he also oozed confidence, and that was something Alec had never had.

/

Magnus Bane liked to keep things interesting with his clients from time to time, switch it up, keep them guessing. His latest client, for instance, was incredibly frustrated that Magnus had taken him to a "mundane" restaurant to discuss "business". Magnus didn't see why the faery was so upset. They were glamoured, for one. Not to mention, a mundane place was the perfect spot to get away from the eavesdropping ears of fellow Downworlders, since few of them would regularly hang out in "mundane places".

And, Magnus reasoned, as the High Warlock of Brooklyn, he could do whatever the hell he wanted. It wasn't like his clientele list was getting any shorter.

He gazed around the room, taking in his surroundings. He'd heard about this place from a friend of a friend, a Were who had a thing for Italian cooking, being half-Italian himself. Ramiro's had come highly recommended.

His eyes took in the tables and chairs, the shelving unit across the way filled to the brim with wine bottles, the cute boy standing at the other end of the room, watching him. On that last one, he let his gaze linger. The boy ducked and turned away, but not before Magnus had seen him start to turn red. Well, that was amusing. Maybe he should personally request that boy, whoever he was, to be their server for the afternoon, if only to make this "business meeting" a little more pleasant on the eyes. He absolutely hated dealing with faeries, but they paid well enough.

They were seated and served by a petite, skinny girl with heavy mascara and chipping nail polish. Magnus felt more than a little disappointed.

As they handed the waitress their menus, he caught black hair out of the corner of his eye and looked. The boy from earlier was leaning over a table, cleaning. Ah, so he was a busboy, was he? He looked fairly good from the back for a mundane, although Magnus had dated several mundanes in his eight-hundred some years of living, and they were always more problematic than they were worth.

"So, I need a favor," the faery started after the girl had left.

Magnus examined his nails before taking a sip of his coffee. "I had assumed as much."

The faery looked like he wanted to kill him. Perhaps this would be quick after all; Magnus certainly hoped as much. He arched an eyebrow, looking at the faery pointedly over the rim of his coffee cup, as if to say, "Well? Continue."

"There is a girl." Ah, wasn't it always a girl. "She is Nephilim."

Magnus set his coffee down and stared at the man across from him, any trace of amusement instantly leaving his face. Faeries didn't lie, so what the hell did this one want with a Shadowhunter? They weren't the most civil bunch of people he had ever known, particularly to Downworlders.

The faery smirked, knowing he had the High Warlock's full attention. "There has been a rumor floating around for some time about the demon attack on the New York City Institute last summer. Something is amiss in the information the Nephilim have provided us with. My queen desires to know the truth about what really happened. You've had dealings with the Nephilim before, haven't you, Bane?"

Magnus tilted his head a little, still skeptical. "Yes, but they're a very secretive bunch when they don't want us knowing their business."

"Are you saying you can't do it?"

"No. I'm _saying_ that if you expect me to get caught up in the business of Nephilim, I expect decent payment."

The faery smirked again. "Of course. My queen fully intends to pay you up front for the info, and, if she likes what you've gathered, she intends to give you something of a bonus."

Payment up front sounded decent enough, but Magnus was still uneasy about getting involved with Shadowhunters. Especially those of the New York City Institute. Ever since the demon attack, the Nephilim had been more aggressive about protecting the city from demons, which meant keeping Downworlders on a "tighter leash". Needless to say, relations between Downworlders and Nephilim were rather sour.

But why did the fae think the Nephilim were lying about the attack? That question _did_ interest him.

Still… "Information gathering isn't part of the usual services I offer."

"Perhaps you should make it part of your services then."

Magnus bristled. "And perhaps you should go back and remind your queen that I'm not a private detective. I'll do this for the fae once, because I'm interested. But the next time you need research done, get someone else. I don't need the Nephilim breathing down my neck anymore than your kind do."

The faery nodded, perfectly calm. "Duly noted. I'll tell my queen that you've accepted. We are a patient people, so take whatever time you need."

Magnus took another sip of his coffee, considering this response. "One question. Why does your queen think the Nephilim Institute suffered more than it's let on? I was under the impression that your kind didn't place much value in _rumors_."

"The girl I mentioned," the faery said, simply, "she had relations with one of ours."

Magnus put his mug down again, raising an eyebrow. Today was just full of surprises, wasn't it? "You mean they were dating?" A Shadowhunter dating a Downworlder? Wasn't that scandalous?

The faery frowned as if the term "dating" upset his more delicate sensibilities. "They were hardly dating. Meliorn simply found her interesting enough to entertain her several times. Nothing more."

Magnus wanted to let out a scoff of disbelief, but the faery at least believed what he said was true, even if Magnus didn't.

"Ok, so they were having 'relations'. What happened?"

"That's what we'd like you to find out, Bane. Because Meliorn has not seen her since the attack, and while he doesn't much care about the girl, he does find it curious."

"Maybe she went off to Idris." The faery shook his head.

"Meliorn has said this girl is not one to disappear without leaving something in her wake."

Magnus considered this. If he chose to believe himself, the girl was in Idris and blowing this "Meliorn" off. Maybe her parents even found out about the "relations" and decided to send her there. Maybe _that's_ what they were so desperate to keep a secret from Downworld. It made sense to him. While it might not seem like dating to a faery, it probably meant at least that much to the girl.

But if he chose to believe the faery, than the girl had disappeared without a trace. She was not in Idris, nor was she at the Institute. If she had died, though, why would the other Nephilim try to keep that hidden? A death among their kind didn't warrant such secret keeping.

Unless she wasn't dead. Or the manner of her death was particularly shocking.

The mundane girl approached their table with their food, and Magnus's faery companion saw this as an excellent time to leave.

"But your food—" the girl started, putting the plates down as the faery got up. He waved a handful of money at her. It threw her off guard, giving the faery enough time to head towards the door and out of the restaurant without a single look back.

Magnus looked up at the stunned mundane girl. "He'd better have paid for both of us."

"With room to spare," the girl muttered.

Magnus wasn't surprised. Faeries tended to be more melodramatic than he was on a bad day.

The waitress looked at the faery's food. "Should I just take it back?"

Magnus shrugged. He opened his mouth to reply that he didn't care but stopped short, spotting dark hair leaning over another table out of the corner of his eye. That boy again. How long did it take to bus tables? Or was he just that much of a perfectionist?

"Say," he said to the waitress instead. "Since my friend left you such a nice tip, why don't you do me a favor?"

"Yes?" she asked. It was polite enough, but Magnus could tell her guard was up.

"I just want to know the name of that cute boy over there," he said, indicating the one bussing tables three rows over. This was obviously not what the waitress expected him to say, as she scrunched her brow in puzzlement.

"Alec? He's not like that."

Magnus remembered the boy blushing when they had locked eyes earlier. He guessed "Alec" wasn't as entirely honest with his co-workers as they seemed to think he was. Either that or the boy had a lot of self-discovery ahead of him.

"Anyway, he's mute," the girl continued. Obviously, she was a gossip if she was volunteering information about the boy without Magnus even having to ask. So much the better for him.

"You mean from birth?"

She frowned, as if recalling something sad. "No. Actually no one knows how it happened to him; he doesn't talk about it." She flushed. "I mean, he hasn't told anyone about it. Even our boss isn't sure." She lowered her voice. "But he's got such horrible scars on his neck. Something really bad must have happened to him. Something awful."

Scars? Magnus looked back at the boy, who had moved onto a new table.

"Anyway, I'll just leave this here and come back to check on you in a little while," the girl said before walking off. Magnus gave a nod to show that he'd heard her, but his attention was still on the busboy. How did someone get scarring on his neck? He could think of a few ways, but they seemed too radical for an average mundane boy.

It was an interesting mystery, though, despite the fact that the subject of said mystery was a mundane. Still, Magnus reasoned, he'd rather figure out the secrets of a cute mundane boy than dig into the past of some Shadowhunter girl.

He supposed he'd have to come back to Ramiro's next week, too.

Good thing the food was palatable.

* * *

_Thank you for all your reviews to the prologue. It really warmed my heart to see them. =)_

_Keyboard Smash  
__Alec has always been my favorite, so thank you. =) I hope you liked this next installment! (Still going in the direction you thought, or too soon to tell?)_

_mcrgirl2500  
__Here's more. I'm so sorry it's late. =( I'll try to be more punctual in the future._

_TheLadyPendragon  
__Thank you! ^_^ And I want Alec to be cleared of all charges, too… I just can't tell you yet if that's the way it's going to work out or not._

_StarryOwlEyes  
__Here's more! I hope you liked it!_

_Blind Desperate Dreamer  
__Well, I can't give you all the details, but I will say that it'll be some time before anything in the realm of kissing happens between our favorite couple. (Sorry…)_

_crazywing18  
__Thank you! I'm not sure where it came from… probably one of those crazy "what if's" that hits me about one AM in the morning… right when I'm trying to sleep. =D_

_-tayl0r-  
__Here you go! Sorry it's so late, but I hope you enjoyed it!_

_LA-EL-AS  
__Thank you! I hope you liked these two chapters as well. =)_

_Bookworm24601  
__Thank you so much! I really appreciate it! =D_

_setsuko teshiba  
__Here you are~~! Sorry for the late update._

_xxlifeinwordsxx  
__Sorry to keep you waiting for so long, but I do hope you enjoyed this. Thank you for all your compliments. ^_^_

_That's all! Until next time… please review and tell me what you thought!_


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